


Love Like Winter

by FuryRed



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Smut, all that good shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed
Summary: After Ian leaves Mickey at the Mexican border he tells himself, more than once, that he did the right thing. That the decision was logical. That he was sensible to kiss goodbye to the love of his life forever and never see him again, or so he thought at the time…But now Mickey's back- something Ian only finds out when he is unexpectedly kidnapped by his former lover. Mickey claims that he is only keeping Ian captive for his protection- ensuring his safety until the men who seek to kill Mickey have been appropriately dealt with- but it soon becomes apparent that there is more bringing the two of them together than just a need for survival, and that perhaps they were foolish to ever try to stay apart in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched all of Shameless in about two weeks, Gallavich stole my heart, ergo: fic writing as therapeutic release.
> 
> Because Mickey Milkovich deserves good things and if he wants Ian Gallagher I'm gonna damn well give that to him.

 

 

_Wake up, coffee, meds, run, work, relax, sleep._

Ad infinitum, a routine to sustain and stabilise Ian; the American dream, or the illusion of such. This is what Ian needs. This is why he didn't go with Mickey to Mexico, even though every aspect of his entire being was screaming at him to get in the fucking car at the time, as Mickey had told him to.

Not a single day has passed since when Ian hasn't thought about that day, about last time he pressed his lips to Mickey's, breathed him in like he was oxygen, like he wanted to commit the _feel_ of him to memory. More than once Ian has tried to reassure himself that he made the right decision, that staying in America was a very un-Monica thing to do, and therefore the correct choice. But as the routine carries on, as one day blurs into another, he remembers Mickey- how vibrant and _alive_ he felt when they were together- and wonders how he is supposed to exist in a sea of grey when life was once so full of colour.

_Wake up, coffee, meds, run, work, relax, sleep._

The sleep part is naturally the hardest. Sleep means rest- a relaxation of both body and mind- but to do that first Ian would have to fully disconnect from all the thoughts that run through his head; memories of Mickey, and the life they once shared.

It was so fragile at first; this tentative thing Ian could barely hold in his hands without fearing it would shatter, breaking into pieces like his heart did all those times Mickey pulled away, denied his feelings, told Ian that what they were was nothing at all. Each time Ian's heart broke he put it back together, but it was like the act of mending it made him colder, harder, more withdrawn- turning in on himself as a means of protection, even when he no longer needed to do so. Because as Ian grew harsher Mickey only grew softer. He gave up everything he ever knew for Ian, outed himself to the entire neighbourhood, cared for Ian throughout his mental episodes, and ultimately went to prison because he was trying to avenge Ian. The fact that Mickey is free now makes Ian feel somewhat better about everything that happened, and what he did, but though Ian tries to absolve himself with the idea that Mickey is safe and well and living it up in Mexico, the bitter taste that remains in Ian's mouth tells him he still has some penance to serve.

It's for that reason Ian throws himself into his career, saving as many lives as he can so he does not have to think about the one he let go. It helps, somewhat, but it's like each passing day allows the routine of Ian's life to become almost robotic in nature- cold and emotionless, like the advent of winter as autumn fades away. When Ian last saw Mickey it was warm and sunny but now it is bitterly cold; an arctic chill setting in that brings with it flurries of icy flakes that cover the city in a dense blanket of white, obscuring all sins. The change in weather makes Ian think of Mickey, and all the seasons they experienced together. He does not know what the weather is like in Mexico, he only hopes that Mickey is happy there.

 

The weather is especially abysmal on the night Ian is working much later than usual- a series of unfortunate incidents keeping Ian busy and preventing him from heading home. By the time Ian is free to go the night is dark and the streets are empty, and with trains out of service due to the snow there is no alternative but for Ian to commence the journey home on foot. Not that Ian minds too much- he has always favoured exercise over public transportation- and so he lights up a cigarette and starts to walk, zipping his jacket all the way up to his chin in an attempt to combat the inclement conditions.

Ian walks for five blocks with the snow falling down all around him, large flakes that turn the entire city into a giant snowglobe; an ethereal scene that would be beautiful were it not so _fucking cold_. There's at least four layers of clothing covering Ian's body and yet he's still shivering, fingers numb even through his gloves, and all he can think of is getting home and sinking into a hot bath in an attempt to wash off some of the stress of the day, as long as there’s not one of the other six or more Gallaghers already occupying the space, of course... Given the lateness of the hour there's a possibility that Ian might be one of the only ones awake so the chances are good, and it's with that in mind that Ian quickens his pace as he glances up and down the road before crossing the street, knowing he will be home soon.

There are no signs of any traffic as Ian heads across to the other side of the road, nothing but a few parked cars and a van just a few meters away, all of which are covered in snow. Most of the houses Ian passes are dark too confirming just how late it is, which means there is no one around to witness as Ian passes the van and suddenly the side door screeches open, barely given Ian any time at all to turn around before someone grabs him. Ian yells out loud and immediately attempts to whirl around to face his attacker, planning to put his military training into good use so he can disarm or possibly dismember the assailant, but the swift fucker plants a hand between Ian's shoulder blades and shoves him to the ground, sending Ian sprawling face-first into the dense snow.

Ian tells himself that it's the shock of the snow forcing its way up his nostrils and into his eyes that hampers him, that makes him unable to react as the attacker yanks Ian's arms roughly behind his back, before fixing them in place with what feels like a cable tie. The tight band cuts into Ian's wrists as he attempts to wriggle free, causing him to shout and inadvertently inhale a large mouthful of snow- something that ultimately results in a lot of feeble choking as Ian is lifted up from the ground and turned around before being thrown unceremoniously into the back of the van. As Ian slumps onto the mattress laid out on the floor of the van he quickly turns over, needing to see who it is who's captured him, but all he sees is the shadowy outline of a figure dressed in all black with a balaclava covering their face, giving Ian no answers whatsoever as the door is slid shut.

 

As Ian is driven god-knows-where he tells himself that he is not scared, that the experiences of his past have more than prepared him for whatever unfortunate circumstance might be about to befall him. It's not like Ian has never taken a beating before, it's not like he doesn’t know what it's like to be cold and frightened and hungry, and for that reason Ian tells himself that he's going to be okay, that he doesn't need to worry. Of course it is hard to maintain such conviction when he is being driven erratically across the city, unable to tell whether the kidnapper's poor driving is as a result of a lack of skill or the bad weather. Nevertheless, in spite of the dicey journey Ian tries his best to focus, attempting to memorise the number of turns the vehicle takes, and whether it goes left or right. It might ultimately prove to be futile but Ian wants to at least attempt to wield some measure of control over the situation, even if it may not last for long.

When the vehicle comes to an abrupt halt some time later it takes Ian by complete surprise, as evidenced by the fact that he has no time to prepare himself from going flying into the front wall of the van, slamming into the metal head-first and letting out a pained groan. Ian lies there dazed for a while as he listens to the sound of the engine turning off, as he hears the driver’s door open followed by the sound of footsteps tracking through the snow and round to the side of the vehicle. He's so disorientated from his mishap that he barely even moves as the door slides open once more, meaning he is in no position to put up any kind of protest as the mysterious stranger leans into the van and seizes hold of Ian, pulling him forward and eventually hauling Ian over their shoulders.

The scene is a blur as Ian is carried away from the vehicle, snow cascading down and only further distorting his cloudy vision. He can make out the sight of a house in front of them but little else, suggesting that they have driven some distance away from the city- a realisation that is disturbing to say the least. Ian knows there is likely to be no one around to help him so he really has no hope of being saved from what's about to happen, whatever that might be. As Ian is carried into the house he tries to think of anyone who might have reason to hurt him, or a _recent_ reason at least, but his mind draws a blank and he can therefore only conclude that his current predicament is likely due to the fallout from another of Frank's ridiculous schemes, or something of a similar nature. Whatever the cause, Ian can only hope he is able to make it through intact.

As Ian is carried further into the house the effects of his head injury begin to lessen, restoring his vision and enabling him to focus once more. Consequently it doesn’t take long for Ian to get more than a little agitated, starting to struggle in his abductor's grasp as he kicks out erratically, managing to land a few good blows that prompt the person carrying him to grunt in response. The kidnapper's movements slow as he carries Ian into the living room, shuffling across the wooden floor, until Ian manages to deliver a glancing blow to the man's crotch and the stranger stumbles, before tipping Ian forward and dumping him unceremoniously onto a pile of cushions on the ground.

Ian hits the ground hard in spite of the padding, groaning as he lands on his bound arms before immediately starting to sit up as he prepares himself for a fight. In front of Ian the masked man is bent over, hands cupping his crotch protectively as he moans beneath the covering, and there's something so familiar about those sounds... It takes Ian far too long to realise it, most likely because the reality of such seems so impossible, but as the man stands upright and reaches for his mask Ian recognises him even before his face is revealed.

“Goddammit, Gallagher- I know you like it rough but there's no need to go tenderising my balls without so much as a kiss to say hello first...”

The mask is removed and Ian's heart shudders erratically within his chest as he gazes at a face he hasn’t seen in months, a face he never thought he would ever see again. It's dark in the room but Ian is still able to make out that same gorgeous smile he has seen in his dreams more than once, the one that seems so bright and so luminous because it has been _earned_ \- awarded to Ian after years of trying to break through Mickey’s defences.

Mickey stands there, his stance wide and uncompromising as usual, and it’s like all of the air has left the room. Ian feels winded as he stares up at Mickey, dazed and disbelieving in a way he knows he has absolutely nothing to do with suffering a concussion from when he banged his head earlier. It’s Mickey that has Ian's world turning on its axis, everything Ian thought he knew shifting and resettling, like Ian is indeed inside a very large snowglobe, one that has been shaken vigorously.

“You look fucking good, Gallagher...” Mickey says, looking him up and down. “This whole little orphan Annie look you got goin' on with the winter clothes is really appealing”.

Ian continues to stare at Mickey mutely, unable to form any kind of response to something so surprising, something that has him wondering if he's actually lying unconscious in the back of the van right now and this is all a dream. It's not, though. That much is evident in the way Ian's pulse is racing- his heart reacting in a manner that signifies not danger but something infinitely more jeopardous.

Mickey's smile fades. “Not expecting to see me, I guess... Bet I'm like the ghost of fucking Christmas past come to mess up your day or some shit. Well, I'm sorry if my being here upsets you, but I had to come. I had to make sure you were safe”.

“Safe?” Ian asks, finding his voice at last. “You just fucking kidnapped me!”

“Pssh, let's not start throwing accusations around. I didn't kidnap you, I merely transported you to a new location. I'm practically an Uber driver”.

“Uber drivers don't typically tie their passengers up and throw them into the back of a van... Seriously- what the fuck, Mickey??”

For a long moment Mickey stares at Ian, clear contemplation written on his face, and then he lets out a low sigh and runs his fingers back through his hair, before reaching over to grasp a nearby chair and pulling it closer. Mickey positions the chair so that he can straddle it with his legs spread wide, a choice of seating position that is infinitely more suggestive than Ian would like, and when he wraps his arms around the back of the chair and lowers his head to prop his chin Ian finds his irritation fading, turning into familiar fondness.

“I missed you, man...” Mickey says quietly.

“Is that why you came?”

“Not exactly... Missing you ain't enough reason to smuggle myself across the Mexican border and travel thousands of miles just to see your freckled ass, as much as I may have wanted to”.

“Then why?”

Mickey shrugs. “Got myself into a bit of trouble, didn't I? Pissed off the wrong person, hurt some feelings, and ultimately ended up with a bunch of angry Mexicans looking to rip out my entrails, or whatever the fuck they said- I don't know, it was in Spanish or some shit”.

“I'm still not quite seeing how this involves me...”

“Couldn't get me, could they? So they started looking into my past, my family and so on. All the Milkoviches are spread out across the country and I doubt anyone would want to bother with them anyway, so naturally that just leaves you, pumpkin spice”.

“You think these guys are after me??”

“It's possible. Don't worry yourself- I've got people looking into it. In the meantime though we'll have to stay here and lay low, just until things blow over”.

Ian looks at Mickey incredulously.

“You expect me to stay here, with you, in the middle of nowhere, for fuck knows how long?”

Instantly Mickey starts to grin, his eyebrows raising suggestively.

“Would that be so terrible? Cosy little loveshack, me and you, all the ass you can eat...”

The look on Mickey's face is distinctly salacious, and Ian can remember a time when it would have been more than enough to tempt him into going along with whatever Mickey was suggesting at the time. The only problem is that was a lifetime ago, before prison and Mexico, and certainly before Ian ending up being fucking _kidnapped_.

“Are you going to fucking untie me?” Ian asks, turning slightly and gesturing at his still-bound wrists.

Mickey sits upright in the chair, some of the amusement in his expression lessening.

“Maybe... I haven't really decided yet. It all depends on whether you’re gonna behave or if you're gonna run to the cops like a little bitch”.

“Why would I go to the cops?”

“I dunno... Maybe this new fucking white bread all-American lifestyle of yours means that you don’t want to lower yourself into hanging out with criminals like me anymore. Maybe you've gone straight”.

“I don't think that’s possible...”

Mickey scoffs loudly. “I ain't talking about your sex life, rainbow riches- I'm talking about the uniform you’re wearing under that thick coat. You're an upstanding member of society now, ain't ya? I thought maybe that might have changed things”.

“Mickey, I was an EMT when I helped you get to Mexico. I stole a car with you. I was your getaway driver when you accidentally robbed that gas station. And besides, I'm a _Gallagher_ \- law abiding isn't really an option...”

“Mmm, I guess that's true... But that still doesn't mean I'm gonna untie ya”.

Ian lets out a loud sigh of exasperation, rolling his eyes.

“Mickey, for fuck's sake...”

That same look of smug amusement returns in full force as Mickey stands up from the chair, wandering across the room and stepping out of Ian's eyeline briefly before returning. When Mickey re-enters the living room he is clutching a small box in one hand and he brings it with him as he kneels down on the ground in front of Ian, placing the box on the floor before opening it. Though Ian is still desperate to have his wrists unbound he finds himself yielding slightly as Mickey removes a small bottle of liquid and a cotton pad, particularly when he dampens the pad and brings it to Ian's forehead, causing him to wince.

“Ah!” Ian protests, flinching as Mickey presses gently against where Ian is now sure there’s a sizeable lump forming on his forehead.

“Hey, you're alright”, Mickey says softly. “Looks like you took a real tumble in the van, but I don't think the cut is too deep”.

Mickey grows quiet as he cleans the injury slowly and carefully, reminding Ian only too well of the tenderness he knows Mickey is capable of displaying. It is something that was never evident at first, not in the days when Ian and Mickey would meet and mindlessly fuck, when Mickey would recoil from Ian's outstretched hand or balk anytime Ian tried to kiss him. Mickey never really adjusted to Ian's touch until after he came out, when it seemed like he knew clearly there was no need to hide anymore. And that lack of retraction later became affection- Mickey reaching out to Ian of his own accord, taking care of Ian when he was sick, pressing gentle kisses to Ian's forehead to soothe him. There is so much gentleness in Mickey and Ian knows he has likely only seen about half of it, because so much of their time together was cut short by circumstance and who knows if they will ever have that opportunity again.

“You're fucking insane, you know that?” Ian says, offering Mickey his first genuine smile. “You could have just called me and I would have come and met you- you didn't have to throw me into a van and drive me to the middle of nowhere”.

“Ah, maybe I wanted to”, Mickey replies with a sly smirk. “How else is a guy supposed to know you care unless you steal him away in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, I don’t know- flowers are nice. Expensive clothes. Maybe a blowjob or two”.

“Well now you’re talking!” Mickey grins, sliding one hand to firmly grope Ian's thigh. “Pants off then, firecrotch- let me show you how much I've missed you”.

“Uh-uh, not so fast. You need to untie me first”.

“Now where would be the fun in that?” Mickey asks. He gazes at Ian for a further few moments before his expression grows more contemplative, some seriousness colouring his eyes. “Are you gonna leave just as soon as I free you?” Mickey adds, looking away.

Ian lets out a low sigh, wishing the disappointment on Mickey's face didn't make him feel quite as guilty as it does.

“Mickey... I can't stay here. I have work tomorrow, plus my family are going to wonder where I am eventually”.

“Yeah, but... you leave and you get hurt... I'll never forgive myself for that”.

“You really think someone is after me?”

“It's why I'm here, ain't it?”

Ian regards Mickey for a long moment, watching as Mickey finishes cleaning the cut on Ian's forehead before dressing it with a small bandage. It's unsurprisingly enjoyable to be touched so reverently by Mickey, to sit so close to him that Ian can make out the captivating blue azure of his eyes even in the dim light, so that Ian can smell the intoxicating and familiar scent of his skin. In many ways it would be harder to go than to stay, and that's only if such an opportunity presents itself given Ian doesn't know if Mickey is just going to refuse to untie him after all. At the same time it would be stupid to stay, to fall back into everything they ever were and everything they could ever be, but at the same time it's what Ian wants desperately, because he knows he has never stopped needing it.

“I can only stay for one night...” Ian says eventually. “I'll need to head home in the morning”.

Instantly Mickey starts to smile again, and Ian wishes the sight wasn't quite so disarming.

“Alright, sounds like a fair deal”, Mickey says, giving Ian’s thigh a quick squeeze. “I guess I better get this place warmed up then- can't have my only houseguest shivering all night”.

Ian remembers then just how fucking cold it is, something he was wilfully distracted from by Mickey's presence to begin with. It's definitely freezing though- the bitter conditions signified by the snow still falling down outside and further evidenced by the way Ian can see his breath in the air, even indoors. For that reason Ian is almost insurmountably grateful when Mickey finally makes good on his promise to untie him, allowing Ian to rub his wrists in an attempt to get the feeling back, and then watching as Mickey stands up from the floor- smiling down at Ian like he has just achieved some kind of small victory.

 

For the rest of the night, which is only about an hour considering how late it is, Mickey continues to keep Ian in close company- almost as if he doesn’t entirely trust Ian to stay when he said he would. Mickey gestures for Ian to follow him upstairs, something that initially makes Ian hesitate until Mickey calls him a name and makes assurances that he’s not about to try and jump Ian's bones- not that Ian necessarily believes him, of course. Still, after such a long day Ian is tired and in need of rest, and so he reluctantly follows Mickey upstairs, relieved to find there is a fireplace in the bedroom that Mickey immediately sets about lighting.

Although there is more than one bedroom in the house it seems to not even be a question that Ian and Mickey are going to end up sharing a bed together, something Ian cannot be sure is a good idea or not. On the one hand Ian is almost overcome with a desperate need to be close to Mickey for the first time in far too long, but on the other he knows that it will only be harder when they separate if they are intimate beforehand. For that reason Ian ensures that when he crawls into bed he makes sure to keep to his side as much as he can, allowing Mickey plenty of room to settle down. Of course the look of disappointment on Mickey’s face as he returns from locking up the house to find Ian already curled up in bed is unmistakable, but Ian tries to pretend he hasn't noticed.

“Tired, huh?” Mickey says, smiling at Ian fondly.

Ian lets out the most convincing yawn he can muster, snuggling down further under the duvet as in front of him Mickey starts to undress- something that proves to be distinctly distracting. Of course, it's not like Ian hasn't seen Mickey naked before, numerous times in fact, but regardless each occasion has somehow seemed exciting as it has brought with it something new.

The first time Ian and Mickey slept together Mickey ripped off his own clothing with such wilful abandon that Ian could do little else but follow suit, giving into to the frenzy and the franticness of the situation so that he barely had time to think about it. Every occasion after that was similar- Mickey would always strip off readily and willingly, but at the same time Ian was provided with little opportunity to really _look_ at Mickey, to admire him properly. Such occasion only came later, mainly during the time in which Ian and Mickey lived together, when Ian would be able to really take his time with Mickey- laying him down on the mattress and leaning over him, smoothing his hands up the backs of Mickey's thighs as he held him, caressing Mickey’s surprisingly soft skin. Mickey would almost always get impatient of course, huffing at Ian and telling him to get on with it, and often grasping hold of Ian's cock and smearing it with lube in a hasty attempt to move things along. But occasionally Mickey would be rather more relaxed about the whole affair, he would lie there and allow Ian to gaze down at him adoringly, to place soft kisses against each one of his ribs, pressing his mouth indiscriminately against smooth skin and faint scars alike. Those moments were always very special to Ian- the times when the rest of the world would fall away and the noise in his head would get quiet for once- and he can't help but think of such things as Mickey removes everything but his t-shirt and boxer shorts, before crawling into bed.

Ian tenses marginally as Mickey slips under the covers, preparing himself for amorous hands that he's not entirely sure he will be able to resist, or if he even wants to. As it is though those hands never make it very far, because as soon as Mickey reaches over to Ian's side his fingers brush against Ian's leg and Mickey immediately starts to chuckle.

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey laughs. “Are you still wearing all your clothes??”

“I took my coat off...” Ian mumbles, feeling somewhat embarrassed about wearing his uniform to bed, though it seemed like a safer option. “It's fucking cold in here!” he adds.

“Well that's why I'm here, isn't it? C'mere and let me warm you up...”

The idea is extremely tempting, and even just the seductive tone of Mickey's voice is enough to make Ian want to immediately shift closer to the warmth of his body. But confusion abounds in Ian's head, and he knows it is safer to just maintain a suitable distance- at least until morning.

“I'm tired”, Ian says quietly, tucking his face into the covers. “I bet you've had a long day too, haven't you? Maybe we both should just get some rest”.

Mickey regards Ian quietly, the glow from the firefight illuminating his pensive face, and though Ian is sure he's probably upset Mickey by rebuffing him he also knows that Mickey is likely to be prideful enough not to say anything.

“Alright, Gallagher... Let's just get some sleep”.

Mickey draws his eyes slowly over Ian's face once more before he turns away, nudging his face into the pillow as he wraps one arm around it. It would be so tempting for Ian to move closer, to press his face into the back of Mickey's neck and breathe him in, absorbing the scent of him properly for the first time in months. But inwardly Ian's mind is whirring just at seeing Mickey again let alone being in bed with him, and as such Ian knows it is safer to stay away, and to hope that the advent of morning brings some clarity with it.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Sleep has never been a very rewarding thing for Mickey- most nights heralding only mere hours of unconsciousness at a time; fitful rest to be broken by rowdy noises in the neighbourhood or even within their own house should Mickey's father be feeling particularly drunk or angry, or both. The experience was very similar in prison. During all of the nights Mickey was there he never really rested, never really felt like he was able to completely switch off; a necessary state of being when you consider the intrinsic dangers of life behind bars. In truth, Mickey knows there is only one time in his life when he truly felt at peace, and as he slowly cracks open his eyes to regard the room bathed in soft light he remembers it.

As Mickey wakes up he opens his eyes to regard the most welcome sight- one that he has seen in his dreams more than once but one that has eluded his waking hours for far too long now. Ian is lying in bed beside Mickey, reclined on his back with his face turned towards Mickey’s side, and in the early light he is beautiful- serene and relaxed as his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Mickey can remember a hundred other mornings like this, when he would wake to find Ian next to him, often pressed snugly up against Mickey's back making Mickey feel safe and warm. Those moments were pure bliss- a break from the usual complications and tribulations of everyday life- and each one allowed Mickey to believe that he was capable of having something safe and _good_ for once, and that he deserved as much.

Mickey regards Ian for a moment longer before he turns away and withdraws from bed, flinching as he places both feet down on the cold wooden floorboards. The fire in the room has long since burned out and so Mickey dresses briskly before wandering over to it, lighting it quickly and remaining there for a moment, warming his hands. When Mickey turns back towards the bed he finds that Ian hasn't moved at all, and though Mickey would very much like to head over there, crawl onto the mattress on top of Ian, wake him in one of a million _unmentionable_ ways, at the same time he has never favoured disturbing Ian when he is at rest, and so instead Mickey gives Ian one last lingering look before he turns and walks away.

 

The weather outside is still bitter as Mickey heads downstairs, gazing through the windows at where dense flurries of snow continue to obscure the horizon. It in no way compares to the heat of Mexico that Mickey has almost become accustomed to, but at the same time Mickey knows he prefers it- the arctic chill of Chicago, long winters that at times seem never-ending. Though the city hasn't always been kind to Mickey it has always been home, and he knows that he has missed it for more reasons that the one batshit crazy redhead he hasn't been able to forget about, or completely forgive...

For the past several months Mickey has thought of nothing else but that day at the border, when he got in that car and drove away from everything he ever cared about. It was necessary, of course- certainly preferable to staying in the States and potentially being arrested and hauled off back to prison- but it was painful too, particularly when it seemed so unnecessary. Even now Mickey cannot be sure why Ian didn't come with him, though he feels like he might understand nonetheless. Mickey has never loved many things in life, has never felt like he deserves them, and as such he cannot really blame Ian for choosing to stay. Milkoviches are thugs and thieves and criminals. They do not deserve happy endings.

Such conviction continues to whirl through Mickey's mind as he later heads back upstairs, balancing cups of coffee and plates of toast in his hands. When Mickey re-enters the bedroom Ian is just stirring, stretching out across the mattress, his face screwed up before his eyes slowly flicker open, taking in the day. Mickey can't help but smile as he approaches the bed, warmed by just the sight of Ian, and how much his presence makes Mickey feel like he is home at last.

“Mornin', sleeping beauty”, Mickey says, flashing Ian a fond smile. “Are you gonna sleep all day or what?”

“Hardly...” Ian murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. “Though this bed is certainly a damn sight more comfortable than my cramped single at home”.

Ian shifts so that he is sitting up in bed, his back resting against the headboard as he watches Mickey approaching. Mickey hands Ian a cup of coffee and places a plate of toast down on his lap, before flipping back the covers and sliding in beside Ian once more. The hopeful part of Mickey wonders if Ian might move closer at that, so they can sit comfortably side-by-side as they have so many times before, but Ian remains rigidly on his side, staring at Mickey and not even attempting to eat his breakfast. Eventually, Mickey addresses Ian.

“You gonna fucking eat that or what?”

Ian continues to gaze impassively at Mickey.

“Mickey... I can't stay here- I told you that”.

The words are like a knife in Mickey's gut but he tries to conceal his disappointment.

“Come on, man- have you seen the weather outside? It's like a fucking blizzard out there- there’s no way you can make it back in this”.

“Mickey... I have to go home. I need to take my meds”.

Mickey stares at Ian for a little while longer, disliking the look of unhappiness on his face, before he abruptly turns and clambers out of bed. He crosses the room quickly and opens the door to the adjoining bathroom, reaching into the black backpack which is hanging over the door to retrieve something. Ian's eyes widen as he sees it, and his expression remains disbelieving as he watches Mickey throw the small, orange pot in his direction.

“Here- now you don't need to go anywhere”, Mickey mutters, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up.

For a while Ian continues to just stare down at the container in his lap, running his finger over the label like he needs to feel it to believe it, but eventually he looks back up once more as Mickey takes up position leaning against a windowsill.

“These are my meds...” Ian says quietly. “Where did you get them?”

Mickey shrugs, not meeting Ian's eyes. “You think I was just gonna drag you over here without properly planning things through? Why kind of lowlife criminal do you take me for... I got other stuff too- clothes, some books, and various shit. Lube...” he murmurs, smiling slightly. “We're in it for the long haul, Gallagher- cause I ain't letting you go until I know it's completely safe”.

When Mickey looks up Ian is staring over at him, still not moving.

“Christ, Ian- just take your fucking meds, okay?” Mickey says, a hint of pleading creeping into his voice.

It takes some time for Ian to give in, to quietly pop the lid off of the medication bottle and pour the pills into his hand, and even then he doesn't quite comply.

“Hey, man- don't just fucking chase that shit with coffee”, Mickey grumbles. “Eat some food, yeah?”

Ian doesn’t answer but eventually he lifts a piece of toast to his mouth, taking a bite and chewing slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. Mickey can remember a time when he could barely get Ian to shut up about what he was thinking and feeling, all utterances given out willingly often accompanied by a goofy smile. Things changed sometime after Ian returned from his stint in the army, and whether that withdrawal of Ian's affection was due to the onset of his mental illness or if it came as a result of all the times Mickey had pushed him away in the past, Mickey still isn't sure. All he knows is how challenging it is now to break through Ian's defences, and how rewarding it is when he does.

For some time Ian eats in silence whilst Mickey remains by the window, puffing out clouds of smoke as he gazes through the glass at the snowy scene outside. The weather looks like it shows no signs of ending; interminable thick, grey clouds covering the sky for as far as the eye can see, and though the day is overcast it seems to Mickey like a sign of hope. For as long as the weather holds up it seems possible that Mickey will be able to keep Ian close by, that they can remain holed up in their cosy little safehouse where no one can disturb them. Of course the situation is not as blissful as Mickey would like, because as much as he wants Ian in his life he does not want to feel like Ian is being forced to stay.

Not that Ian protests, of course. He sits in bed and eats his breakfast and drinks his coffee, and eventually Mickey moves over to him, sitting on the bed on top of the sheets and handing a cigarette to Ian. It's undeniably thrilling- the moment when their fingers gently brush against each other- and it's remarkable how much the touch of Ian is something that Mickey still covets, the feeling so familiar even after so many months. All Mickey wants is that closeness again, that comfort, but like always Ian is hard to read and Mickey has no way of knowing what he’s really thinking, and Mickey certainly isn’t about to ask. Fortunately, a different topic of conversation soon provides welcome distraction.

“So are you going to tell me who's trying to kill you and why?” Ian asks eventually.

“Ah, just some asshole I screwed over... It's not important really”.

“It is if this guy is trying to kill me too. I still don't understand how he even knows about me, or why he thinks that coming after me is the best way to get to you...” Ian grows quiet for a moment before adding: “Is there really even a guy at all, or is this just some crazy attempt to get back with me?”

Mickey lets out an unimpressed sound. “Don't flatter yourself, Gallagher... If I wanted to abduct you I could have just hired some goon to smuggle you across the border and bring you straight to me. I've got a nice setup down there as well- house on the beach, as many Coronas as I can drink, all sun all the time--”

“And yet you're still pale as fuck...”

Mickey shoves an elbow into Ian’s side, prompting Ian to smile and nudge back at him.

“Alright, don't go pretending you don't love my pasty white skin”, Mickey smirks. “I'm serious though, man- it's great down there. You should come and visit sometime”.

It's an idea Mickey has harboured more than once- that Ian might one day pay a visit to Mexico, or perhaps stay for a while. But though it's what Mickey wants more than anything he has never allowed himself to hope too ardently that it would ever happen, because after all Mickey knows it is safer to be prepared for the worst.

“So what happened then?” Ian prompts. “Who'd you fuck over and why? Was it a drug thing, or did you get into debt with the wrong person or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that...” Mickey pauses, running a hand back through his hair before he sighs and then explains: “Ah man, it was a guy, alright- someone I was seeing. Things got complicated and maybe I accidentally stole some of his money, and he decided the best way to get back at me was to go after you”.

In response to Mickey’s words Ian instantly grows quiet, his mouth clamping shut as he nods his head, and Mickey knows he would be lying if he said he didn't find the expression on Ian's face oddly thrilling. Because although Mickey knows how he still feels about Ian, how he has _always_ felt, he has no way of being certain how Ian feels in response. For that reason any flicker of reaction Mickey can get from Ian is endlessly valuable, particularly if the expression hints at any kind of jealousy.

“You... met someone?” Ian says quietly.

“What's the matter, tough guy?” Mickey grins. “You jealous or something?”

Ian shakes his head but it's not exactly convincing.

“No, I’m not... I'm just... _surprised_ ”.

“Why? You thought you were the only one who was capable of moving on? Last time I was here you had that boyfriend, didn’t ya? Maybe I decided I needed to find a little something for myself- can't exactly hang around waiting for your ass to show up”.

Except that’s exactly what Mickey did, of course. For the first few weeks after Mickey arrived in Mexico he stayed near the border, remaining close by so that it would be easy for Ian to find him, if he so wished. But it never happened, and eventually Mickey began to accept that he was most likely waiting for something that would never come, hence the resultant course of action that eventually led him to his current situation- where there's an angry ex out there somewhere looking to chop his balls off.

Ian shakes his head at Mickey, a small smile playing about his lips.

“Only you could end up fucking someone and then fucking them over...”

Mickey shrugs his shoulders. “What can I say? It's the Milkovich way of life. Anyway, it'll all blow over soon. I got some guys working on intercepting this fucker and sending him back to Mexico with a very firm reminder of what happens when you fuck with the wrong _ese_. We'll be here like a week tops, and then everything will go back to normal”.

“And you expect me to stay here with you all that time?”

“Well, yeah... Is that such a problem? It's not like we ain't lived together before”.

“Mickey, this is a little bit different... I've got to go to work, you know? I've got a shift tonight, in fact”.

“So call in sick. Tell them you're taking a mental health day or some shit. Ian, it isn't safe for you out there... I'm not gonna let you get hurt, even if that means I have to keep you here against your will, alright princess? This is your fucking castle now and I'm guarding it, so you best get used to the royal treatment cause you ain't going nowhere”.

Mickey stands up from the bed abruptly, stomping over towards the door without looking back, knowing that he needs to step away to get some space before he punches Ian in his pretty little face to show him how much he cares about him. Of course Mickey has barely achieved any kind of distance before he hears Ian clamber out of bed, his footsteps padding across the wooden floor behind Mickey as he says: “You think you can stop me?”

Instantly Mickey feels the heat begin to rise in his body as he turns to face Ian, being met by an impassive glare that he has seen more than once in his lifetime- one that exhibits a very real challenge. When Mickey and Ian first got together it was because they were fighting and that dynamic has continued ever since, almost as if they cannot possibly keep their hands off of each other, whether due to lust or love or whatever other tangled, messed up reason. Consequently Mickey can't help but smile as Ian steps closer, knowing the direction things are going in and relishing the prospect.

“You think you can take me, tough guy?” Mickey asks, his voice low and his eyes focused on Ian’s face. “You wanna give it a try? You know I worked out a lot during my time in prison- I reckon I’m more than a match for your army training now”.

“You can't keep me here”, Ian replies, staring down at Mickey. “If I have to fight you I will”.

Though it is still cold in the room Mickey feels hot all over, blood burning through his veins as he licks his lips and gazes up at Ian, admiring every single freckle on his pensive face. It's only a matter of time before one of them puts hands on the other, and when that moment comes Mickey knows that he won't stop until he's got what he wants.

When it happens it happens quickly. Ian makes a move to push past Mickey and instantly Mickey pushes back, placing both hands on Ian's chest and shoving him so he stumbles back into the room. It only takes Ian a second to recover, to stand upright and advance towards Mickey once more, but as soon as that has happened Mickey is rushing forward and throwing himself at Ian, tackling him so they both go sprawling back onto the bed.

It's a fight for control as Mickey and Ian grapple on the mattress, grabbing at each other’s bodies as they both attempt to get the upper hand- something Mickey initially wins until the point when Ian delivers a swift jab to Mickey's ribs, causing him to let out a grunt of pain as he doubles over. In mere seconds Mickey is flat on his back with Ian straddling his chest, the position a perfect parallel of how things were the very first time they slept together, and it's almost inevitable the direction in which things are going to go. Ian stops where he is gazing down at Mickey, looking gorgeous in his EMT uniform- making Mickey’s heart race and his mouth run dry- and it's clear that Ian is feeling similarly afflicted as his breathing quickens, a noticeable erection forming and pressing against Mickey’s chest through the material of Ian's trousers.

“You gonna let me suck that thing or what?” Mickey murmurs eventually, drawing his tongue over his lower lip.

For a moment Ian only stares at Mickey, before he reaches down to gently run one hand through Mickey's hair as Mickey closes his eyes to absorb the feeling. When he opens them again Ian is still watching him, the fire between them tempering and turning into something calmer but equally warming, tacit in Ian’s eyes as he finally reaches down to pull at the fastenings of his trousers.

It's still fevered but more controlled than before as Ian swiftly unbuttons his trousers, as Mickey reaches to help him, yanking them down and off before lying back once more as Ian ranges over him. Instantly Mickey is once again faced with the most beautiful cock he has ever seen in his life- nine inches of cut perfection, flushed pink at the tip and just begging to be sucked. Mickey is only too happy to oblige by opening his mouth and taking Ian's cock in, arousal deepening at the way Ian instantly _groans_ , both hands sliding into Mickey's hair like he is trying to prevent Mickey from going anywhere even though there is no danger of that. In truth there is nowhere Mickey would rather be than with Ian, under Ian, and as such he is the pinnacle of dedication as he sucks leisurely on Ian's cock, watching Ian’s face continually as he does so.

It's a marked difference in intimacy compared to how things were during the first couple of years that they knew each other. Back then Mickey wouldn't so much as kiss Ian let alone suck his cock- something that, in his mind, he wrote off as just being _too_ _gay_ , as if continually being fucked in the ass weren't already an indicator of such. It took time for Mickey to open up to Ian, to allow himself to give in to him, to not turn his back when they fucked, to not look away from Ian's face any time Ian was inside of him. It is easier now but it's harder too, because looking at Ian only reminds Mickey of how much he still cares for him, even though it would be easier not to.

As the act continues Ian begins to hold onto Mickey's hair more firmly, rocking forward and fucking Mickey's face with wanton abandon as Mickey slides a hand down into his own underwear, squeezing his equally hard cock. Ian hastily unbuttons his shirt and yanks it off followed by his t-shirt, allowing Mickey to watch the muscles in Ian's chest rippling enticingly as he thrusts forward, and it's fucking perfect but it's not quite all Mickey needs, and so after a little while longer he pulls back from Ian’s cock prompting a beautiful moan of protest from Ian, before resting his head against the pillow as he gazes up at him.

“Don't go blowing your load just yet, firecrotch. How's about you fuck me first?”

Ian nods and clambers off of Mickey, allowing Mickey the space to reach for his own clothing and quickly pull it off, moving swiftly as Ian wanders across the room to search inside the nearby backpack for lube. When Ian returns clutching the lube Mickey rolls onto his front, because although he wants Ian desperately it is easier somehow to hold back a little, to not reach for Ian and cling onto him and kiss him, like he has so many times before. If it can just be sex then maybe that’s okay, maybe it is safer somehow to just let the act be an expression of lust and nothing more, because in just a short while Mickey knows he will need to go back to Mexico, and that he will most likely be doing so alone.

“You gonna continue dicking around back there or are you gonna hurry up and fuck me?” Mickey asks, looking back from where he is lying sprawled across the mattress as Ian approaches.

“Didn't anyone ever tell you that patience is a virtue?” Ian replies, kneeling on the mattress in-between Mickey’s spread legs.

“Yeah, well- however said that clearly ain’t had to wait nine freaking minutes for pizza rolls to cook... Just hurry up already”.

“Just a minute. Do you have a rubber?”

“Jeez, so you're suddenly the epitome of sexual health and awareness? Shit, man- you really have changed...”

Mickey gazes back at Ian for a moment whilst Ian only waits expectantly, prompting Mickey to roll his eyes and lean over the side of the bed, fumbling in his jeans for his wallet. After a little while Mickey manages to locate a condom within so he stuffs it in his mouth as he moves back to the centre of the bed, before turning his head towards Ian and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Thanks”, Ian says with a smirk, reaching over to pluck the condom from between Mickey's teeth.

Mickey settles down once more as he listens to the sound of Ian tearing open the wrapper and rolling the condom onto his cock, making Mickey subconsciously spread his legs further apart as he prepares himself for something he has been aching for every day for the past several months. It takes longer than Mickey would like to get things going, something that he tries not to get too impatient about, but it's hard when the mere proximity of Ian has arousal thrumming through Mickey’s body, intensifying as Ian starts to touch him. Ian spreads Mickey's buttocks and rubs his lubed fingers against Mickey's hole gently before slowly starting to push his digits inside, and all Mickey can do in response is struggle to suppress a moan, angling up into Ian's touch as he waits for Ian to fuck him.  

By the time Ian has three fingers inserted Mickey is practically crying out in frustration, pressing his face into his forearm and biting down on his own flesh as Ian’s fingers brush continually against his prostate. Prep has never normally taken so long, most likely due to the fact that their earlier encounters were always so frenzied, and consequently Mickey cannot understand why Ian is taking so fucking long now, though he can’t help but see it as some kind of punishment...

“Are you trying to fucking torture me, army?” Mickey whines. “Come the fuck on already- get in me”.

Ian laughs quietly, before removing his fingers from Mickey’s ass. Mickey is just about to turn around to give Ian a piece of his mind when he feels Ian move closer, his lips depositing a succession of soft kisses that trail from the base of Mickey's spine all the way up to the back of his neck- a sweet and gentle gesture that has Mickey’s heart thrumming rapidly within his chest. And when Ian reaches that point just before things are about to begin he lingers, nibbling gently at Mickey’s shoulder, before finally he starts to push his cock inside, lifting his head as he does so and whispering in Mickey’s ear: “ _Mick_...”

It's heady and intoxicating to be with Ian again, to groan quietly as he feels the full length of Ian’s cock slide into his ass, stretching Mickey's hole. Mickey bites his lip and smiles, lifting his hips and pushing back against Ian, sending him deeper, needing to _feel_ every inch of him. Mickey wants to feel it, wants it to hurt almost, wants to bear the marks of Ian upon his body for days if not weeks to come because for all he knows this may the last time, and he's not going to make the mistake of not savouring it again. If the experience cannot last the memory will, and it's for that reason Mickey gives himself over to it, feeling the full weight of Ian against his back, feeling the warmth of Ian’s breath against the side of his neck, and loving it.

After a while Ian picks up speed, grasping Mickey on the hips and pulling him back so he can thrust more deeply into him, his fingers gripping Mickey’s sides firmly. Mickey stays like that with his knees bent and his chest pressed against the mattress as Ian fucks him thoroughly, not even thinking to reach down for his own cock until he feels like he can’t take it anymore- the sensations of being fucked by Ian too overwhelming and intense. Mickey grasps his aching cock and strokes it in time with Ian’s thrusts, his breathing growing more laboured as above himself Ian does the same, gasping and groaning. And when Mickey recognises the sounds Ian always makes when he is close to climax and he can't resist turning back to look at him, watching as Ian's face tenses and comes, making Mickey stroke his own cock more firmly as he does the same.

After climax they remain there for a while, Ian pressed firmly against Mickey's back as slowly their breathing returns to normal, Ian's cock still buried in Mickey’s ass. Eventually Ian withdraws making Mickey fight to contain a moan as they separate, remaining slumped against the mattress as he feels Ian climb off the bed and move away, most likely heading over to the bathroom. Though part of Mickey knows he should probably be getting up and cleaning himself off too he finds he can barely move, more satisfied than he has felt in months, yet still lacking something too. And so Mickey uses the residual energy that he has to roll away from the wet patch on the bed, smiling softly as he feels the mattress dip and knows that Ian has joined him- at least for now.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

When Ian had wanted to join the army part of the reason was because of all the incredible sights he thought he'd see. Though the experience would certainly be hard it would be rewarding too- a benefit attained by traveling across the world and visiting numerous beautiful countries. Of course Ian knows now that, despite the places he could have gone, despite the things he could have seen, there will never be a sight more beautiful than that found in his hometown of Chicago- the sight of Mickey Milkovich passed out after sex.

Ian hasn't even done enough to truly wear Mickey out, at least not like he always used to, and yet regardless Mickey is now lying there spread across the mattress, naked and unselfconscious as he gently sleeps. It's strangely ironic that the reason for them even fucking at all was initially because they were fighting over Mickey's plan to prevent Ian from leaving, because Ian knows he could just get up and go now and there's not a damn thing Mickey could do to stop him. The only problem is that Ian doesn't want to leave, not really, and so he lights a cigarette and tells himself he will stay just a little while longer- just until Mickey wakes up, at least.

As Ian watches over Mickey he finds that his mind readily wanders, remembering every other occasion they have shared like this. It was never something that happened in the beginning, of course- they would only ever fuck behind the high school bleachers or at the Kash and Grab, and each time it would be a matter of a quick fuck before leaving; nothing tender or loving about it. But there is memory of later years, particularly the months following Mickey's coming out- moments when Ian would devote time to making sure Mickey was well and truly fuckstruck, and then he would lie there watching Mickey as he slept. Mickey has always seemed to expend so much energy maintaining his tough and uncompromising demeanour, and as such the moments when Ian is able to see him so relaxed and unassuming have always been especially rewarding.

It is the same situation now as Ian watches Mickey, contemplating trailing his fingertips gently down the line of Mickey's back, but resisting for now. When Mickey wakes up Ian knows he will have to tell him that he's leaving, that he will have to mean it this time, but already the pull of Mickey's presence is proving very hard to resist. It's the same pull that once led Ian to the Mexican border, that made him think about giving up everything he ever knew for the person he loves most in the world, and Ian fears how far it might lead him this time. Because already being with Mickey is oddly drugging, making Ian want to do nothing more than give in to the high.

Eventually Ian pulls away, withdrawing from bed and wandering into the bathroom, before turning on the shower and stepping under the water once it is hot enough. Already Ian can feel the lasting effects of sex with Mickey on his body- Mickey's scent in his nose, the image behind his eyelids of Mickey's mouth stretched round his cock, the _feeling_ of fucking him again. The experience is something that has always been incomparable in Ian's life, not just because being with Mickey was always the best sex Ian ever had, but because it always _meant_ so much more than it did with any other person. Consequently Ian knows if he has any hope of leaving he will need to do it now, before he gives in to how much he wants to stay.

Of course such conviction is somewhat hard to maintain when Ian hears the shower door slide open, and he turns around to find Mickey standing there in front of him.

“You best not be using all the hot water. Shove over in there”.

Mickey gently pushes against Ian’s shoulder, encouraging him to move out of the way so that Mickey can join him in the shower- something that Ian doesn't even try to resist. It's certainly not the first time Ian and Mickey have showered together- that actually happened some years previously, on the night that Mickey told everyone he was gay before getting into a vicious fistfight with his dad. Even now Ian remembers standing in the shower with Mickey later that evening, gently washing the blood out of Mickey's hair and cleaning his wounds, quietly charmed by the way Mickey squirmed and tried to pretend he didn't need the attention. Mickey gave in eventually though, leaning into Ian's body as Ian gently cradled the back of his head, pressing his face into Ian's chest as Ian held Mickey and whispered to him how proud he was of him- words that Mickey most likely tried to pretend were swallowed up by the sound of the shower. There have been numerous occasions when they have showered together since and it has been something Ian has always enjoyed, not just because there is no better sight to him than a naked, wet, soaped-up Milkovich...

It's a vision Ian can't tear his eyes away from now, even as he turns around and tries to pretend he is focusing on getting clean instead. Mickey’s proximity is incredibly distracting, making Ian want to do little more than shove Mickey up against the shower wall and slide his hand in-between Mickey's legs to check he is still wet and ready for another go. But as it is Ian remains where he is, eyes fixed resolutely on the wall in front of him as he attempts to ignore Mickey’s presence, for some time at least.

“Why so quiet, ginger snaps?” Mickey asks. “I ain't tired you out already, have I?”

Ian scoffs. “Hardly... I think if anyone’s tired it's you. After all- you're the one who was lying there snoring barely thirty seconds after coming. It’s kind of embarrassing, really. I hadn't even given you any of my best moves”.

“Oh, well- then by all means why don't you get your ass back in that bedroom and show me your moves, hmm firecrotch? Show me what I've been missing all these months”.

Mickey pauses, clearly waiting for a response, and when none is forthcoming he adds: “Unless you’re still planning on leaving...?”

Ian turns to find Mickey watching him carefully, a contemplative look on his face that belies any happiness at the idea of Ian going home, and it's clear this is an argument they’re going to keep having until the point when Ian finally leaves. However it is also increasingly evident that Mickey is growing tired of labouring over the same issue all the time.

“Dammit, Gallagher- you got a death wish or something? There is literally a guy out there who wants to chop your dick off, and I ain't letting it happen. Nobody’s touching your dick but me, you got that? So you just need to stay here and keep your pretty little head down, until I get word from my boys that it's safe”.

Mickey shoots Ian a pointed look before he turns and leaves the shower, slapping Ian on the ass as he goes, and immediately a certain feeling of irritation starts to run through Ian's body. It's not that Ian necessarily has a problem with Mickey being so protective of him, because in truth he actually finds it quite endearing. No, the issue is Mickey making the decision alone, _telling_ Ian what's going to happen rather than talking it through with him, and it’s something that Ian has never liked. It makes him feel like he has no control, like he's not permitted to exercise authority over his own life, almost like he is not of sound enough mind to make his own choices. Consequently, it's not something Ian is just going to suffer through without saying anything.

When Ian re-enters the bedroom Mickey is standing in front of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist as he runs one hand back through his hair. He looks over at Ian and smiles as he enters, but that same smile quickly morphs into a look of surprise as Ian strides over to him, seizing Mickey on the upper arms before shoving him unceremoniously down onto the bed.

“Hey, what the fuck man?!” Mickey yells as he is slammed into the mattress, ending up bent over the edge with his knees almost touching the floor. Ian takes up position standing in-between Mickey’s spread legs, the palm of one hand planted firmly between Mickey's shoulder blades, and as he reaches with the other to yank the towel off from Mickey's waist Mickey's noises of protest fade, becoming murmurs of interest instead.

“You gonna show me your moves, huh tough guy?” Mickey asks, tilting his head to look back at Ian. It's clear that he is interested but Mickey, pissy little power bottom that he is, can't resist adding: “Well whatever you're gonna do you best do it soon, before I get tired of this and decide to kick your ass”.

“I'd like to see you try...” Ian challenges, gazing down at him. Ian draws one hand slowly down the curve of Mickey's spine, watching Mickey shiver in the wake of the touch, until finally he cups Mickey's gorgeous ass and squeezes gently, thumb brushing over a round swell of scar tissue that still looks like it will still take years to fade.

Mickey’s face is clearly tensed in anticipation as Ian leans closer, sliding one hand between Mickey’s legs to grab hold of his cock and pulling it down so it is pressed up against the edge of the mattress. The fact that Mickey is already hard is encouraging enough but that doesn’t mean Ian is going to take things easy on him, and so he moves deliberately slowly as he drops down to rest on knees, using both hands to spread Mickey’s buttocks. For a moment Ian lingers, allowing the warmth of his breath to course over Mickey's entrance, and only when Mickey emits a series of grumbling curses does Ian bring his mouth closer, starting off by gently lapping at the area.

It’s amusing to Ian how quickly he is able to render Mickey speechless- all cutting remarks and playful comments fading into nothingness as Ian uses his tongue to slowly take Mickey apart. The act has always been Mickey's favourite thing, even if he was too shy or too stubborn to ask for it first, but with the progression of their relationship came transparency and as such Ian is able to think of numerous nights that he has spent like this, eating Mickey out until he is reduced to little more than a shivery, aroused mess. That is Ian's intention this time too but with one noticeable difference, because although it's endlessly enjoyable to lick and gently nibble at the most sensitive parts of Mickey, making him writhe and groan and mutter under his breath, Ian hasn't forgotten about their apparent play for power, or how much he wants to win...

For that reason Ian makes sure to expend a generous amount of time on the act before he withdraws, instantly starting to smile as he hears the desperate groan that Mickey is unable to suppress. Mickey is clearly expecting some further kind of attention because he turns his head and almost _glares_ at Ian, as if daring him to move away, prompting Ian to step closer and grasp hold of Mickey's hips, holding him in place. Mickey’s head lowers again as Ian starts to gradually brush the tip of his cock against Mickey's hole, circling slowly and deliberately as Mickey starts to murmur. But just as Ian reaches the point when he would normally push inside he instead leans over, moving to nudge his nose against the side of Mickey’s face as he speaks to him.

“Just so we're clear...” Ian starts, keeping his voice as low as possible “...I'll leave when I choose to leave, and there's not a single fucking thing you can do about it”.

Without another word Ian abruptly withdraws, turning away from where Mickey is still lying bent over the bed and walking quickly towards the bathroom. From behind himself Ian can hear a succession of cursing and angry questions but he does not turn round, not even so that he can enjoy the look of frustration that is bound to be on Mickey’s face. Ian knows from experience that sometimes he gets the most from Mickey by giving him very little at all, and so Ian provides no response as he walks over to the bathroom and steps inside, closing the door firmly behind himself.

 

A second, much colder shower is required before Ian is able to face Mickey again, and though Ian wonders if he might immediately be greeted by a pissed off Milkovich tackling him as soon as he exits the bathroom, to his surprise he finds the bedroom surprisingly empty. Noises coming from downstairs tell Ian that Mickey hasn't gone far though, and so Ian dresses in some of the clothing Mickey thoughtfully stole before heading down to join him.

When Ian arrives downstairs he tracks the continuing sounds into the kitchen, finding Mickey standing in front of the sink washing dishes in the most needlessly dramatic way Ian has ever seen. Though Mickey clearly registers that Ian is standing there he refuses to turn around, instead continuing to pick plates out of the sink becoming slamming them into the dish drainer with such force Ian is sure it's only a matter of time before he breaks one. It's amusing of course in the way Mickey often is when he's frustrated, and consequently Ian can't help but smile widely as he watches him.

“I suppose you think you're pretty funny, pulling that shit...” Mickey says eventually, shooting Ian a dirty look.

“I'm not trying to be funny...” Ian replies, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “I'm trying to be taken seriously”.

“Who the fuck's not taking you seriously? What- just because I’m trying to keep your ass safe that makes me some kind of asshole? Would you rather I let you go out there and get turned into a fucking burrito or whatever?”

“I'd rather you just talked to me, instead of telling me what to do all the time. I mean, Jesus Mickey- you show up out of fucking nowhere and near enough kidnap me, and then expect me to just stay with you indefinitely in this crapshack”.

“It's not that bad...” Mickey starts.

“That’s not the point... According to you some guy is after me, some ex of yours, but you haven’t filled me in on any of the details. I need you to tell me how this happened, what kind of danger he poses, if my family are safe...”

“They're safe. Come on, man- do you really think I'd let anything happen to your family? I got someone over there keeping an eye on them”.

“Well if that's the case then why can't I be with them? Why do I have to stay here?”

The answer is perhaps obvious but nevertheless it is made plain in the way Mickey grows quiet, pausing where he is leaning over the sink, his fingers gripping the rim of the counter. Ian slowly unfolds his arms as he stares at Mickey, a small amount of guilt slowly creeping over his senses, but before he can open his mouth to make amends Mickey speaks to him first.

“I missed you, Ian...”

Ian's heart clenches within his chest, sparks of emotion emanating from the place beneath his ribcage like Mickey’s words have pierced the spot. And though it would be easier to hold back, safer somehow, Ian can't help but respond in kind.

“I missed you too...”

Mickey turns to look at Ian, his lips just starting to draw up in a smile, though his eyes still speak of a certain amount of hurt.

“If you missed me then why the fuck didn’t you come to Mexico? I waited for you, man...”

“I'm sorry, Mickey. I just... couldn't”.

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair”.

“Fair? ‘The fuck do you mean- fair?”

Saying it out loud is harder than Ian would like and so he exhales a low sigh and starts to move away, but before he can go anywhere Mickey grabs his arm, taking hold and squeezing tight.

“Hey, don't turn away from me. You're the one who wanted to talk so let’s talk- tell me what you're thinking”.

For a moment Ian can only stand there, feeling the intensity of Mickey's gaze upon him- something Ian can't help but look away from. Eventually though Ian finds the strength to look Mickey in the eye, so he can finally give him the explanation he never thought he'd have the opportunity to be able to.

“I didn’t come to Mexico... because I felt like I finally had my life in order, perhaps for the first time in years. Leaving with you would have put that all at risk, but it wouldn't have just been my life I was in danger of ruining. I know you never asked for... for what happened. With me. And my bipolar crap. That's why I knew I couldn't come with you- part of me felt like I was sparing you somehow from having to deal with it”.

“And just what the fuck part of anything I ever did for you made you think I wouldn't want that? That I wouldn't want _you_ , exactly as you are?”

“It's not about what you want, Mick- it’s about what you need..."

“Yeah, and I fucking need you, Ian”, Mickey replies, expression tense as he gazes up at him. “I mean, fuck- you're the one going on about me making decisions for you or some shit but at the same time you’re telling me you can't be with me because it's in _my_ best interests? That's pretty fucking hypocritical, man”.

“Alright, I get it- I'm an asshole...” Ian says, starting to smile slightly. “It doesn't mean I'm wrong”.

Mickey shakes his head, before a smile begins to creep over his face.

“Ah, who in this fucked up world is right anyway? Best we can do is follow each poor decision with a chaser of whiskey and be done with it”.

At that Mickey lets go of Ian's arm and turns around, reaching into a nearby cupboard and retrieving a large bottle that he gestures at Ian whilst raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Mickey, it's barely ten o'clock...”

“Well it’s happy hour somewhere- so drink up, bitch”.

Ian watches in disbelief as Mickey places two glasses on the counter and starts to fill them halfway, downing one before turning to offer the other to Ian. Ian doesn't take the glass, doesn't even move in fact, prompting Mickey to roll his eyes at Ian exaggeratedly.

“For fuck's sake, Gallagher... If you're gonna leave me again you could at least stay and have a drink first”.

Ian still doesn't move, and so Mickey picks up the glass and holds it up to him, tipping it slowly from side-to-side.

“Come on, Ian... One drink and then I'll walk you to the fucking door myself, alright?”

Unsurprisingly Ian doesn't believe him for a second, but he finds himself agreeing anyway.

 

One drink turns into two, into five, and consequently Ian ends up spending the greater part of the morning and afternoon hanging out with Mickey, drinking and reminiscing and at one point attempting to eat some godawful pie Mickey finds in the fridge. It’s nice in the kind of way that is subliminally complicated, because every time Mickey smiles at Ian all Ian wants to do is to rush across the room and grab Mickey and kiss him- something that they haven’t actually done so far since they were reunited. It's like their lips represent a line they do not cross, though it is clear to Ian that Mickey is interested, that he _wants_ it desperately- just like Ian does. But it's safer for them both to stay apart, almost as if by not kissing they can allow themselves to believe that they are not really back in the same place as before- helplessly falling for each other, like they always were.

When the time comes for Ian to leave Mickey is surprisingly cooperative, though he sulks more than Ian would like... Mickey walks Ian to the door and grumbles about the weather and the distance home, but at least reassures Ian that he's going to make sure someone keeps an eye on him, so that he comes to no harm. Though it would obviously be a risk Ian is inclined to assume that it's Mickey himself who will be watching over him- that Mickey would place himself in danger of being arrested if it means he is able to protect Ian; something that he has done before and that Ian still feels guilty about. It's for that reason why Ian lingers on the doorstep, turning towards Mickey and taking the time to study his face as if it is the last time he will do so, telling himself that their separation is only going to help Mickey, because he deserves to have a good life in Mexico with little to no complications.

“Guess I'll see you around, Gallagher...” Mickey says, staring out at the snow steadily falling down rather than at Ian himself. “Look after yourself, alright?”

Ian watches Mickey standing there with his arms wrapped around himself in defence of the cold, the thin shirt he is wearing doing little to protect him from the weather. Without thinking Ian steps closer to Mickey, and reaches a hand up to gently cup his face like he is powerless to resist doing so. Though Mickey still doesn't turn around he trembles at the touch, closing his eyes in reverence for a moment before reopening them, chewing slowly on his lower lip before he finally looks at Ian. It is obvious then that this is something Ian is powerless to resist, something he has never been able to stay away from in spite of all the occasions upon which it was surely in his best interests to do so, and as such it is only instinctual to step closer to Mickey, and to slide both hands into his hair.

“'The fuck are you doing, man...?” Mickey grumbles, glancing briefly into Ian's eyes. “I'm freezing my balls off out here, so unless you’re gonna let me warm them by sitting on your face I suggest you get going”.

Ian doesn't respond, can't think to do anything but gently stroke his fingers through Mickey’s hair, staring down at him ardently. Though Mickey's expression continues to be one of mild annoyance the way he keeps glancing at Ian's face tells Ian that he is close to yielding, and therefore what happens next is really only inevitable.

Mickey’s hands rise to tentatively rest on Ian's stomach, fingertips brushing against the soft material of Ian's jumper as they move closer together, lingering in that space where they are almost kissing but not quite. They are near enough to each other that Ian is able to see the full spectrum of blue in Mickey’s eyes, made brighter by the sun reflecting off of the snow all around them, and it's so blinding that Ian can't help but lean in, drawn to Mickey as he always is.

When they kiss it is the culmination of months of yearning, of days and nights spent thinking of another time, another place, another life. Ian gives into Mickey readily, opens his mouth as Mickey slides his tongue inside, goes willingly as Mickey wraps his hands around Ian's waist and pulls him closer, pawing at Ian hungrily. One minute they are outside shivering in the arctic air and the next they are back in the living room, frantically pulling at each other's clothing as they tumble onto the sofa. Ian ends up sprawled across the couch on his back with Mickey plastered to his front, sliding his hands under the waistband of Mickey’s trousers and delighting in the way Mickey is warm everywhere that Ian touches, not that Mickey is necessarily so appreciative of that fact...

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ian- your hands are fucking freezing!” Mickey exclaims, bolting upright where he is straddling Ian's waist. “How's about you warn me next time before you go sticking your popsicle fingers down my pants?”

“You've never complained before...” Ian replies with a grin.

In response Mickey shakes his head as he stares down at Ian, prompting Ian to slowly slide the palms of his hands up under Mickey’s shirt, watching as Mickey flinches at first before closing his eyes and biting his lower lip. Ian leans forward and presses his lips to Mickey’s stomach, trailing his mouth slowly over Mickey's soft belly, sucking marks into his skin as Mickey evidently decides that he's not that bothered about the cold after all, given the way he starts to hastily remove his clothes. Once Mickey is entirely, thrillingly naked he reaches for Ian's clothing too, pulling it off until they are both completely naked.

It's impossible then to resist the urge to just lie there and gaze up at Mickey, drawing both hands slowly up Mickey's sturdy thighs as he shifts on top of Ian, his hard cock resting against Ian's stomach. Mickey reaches back and grasps Ian's member, moving like he is going to sink down onto it, but before he gets the opportunity to do so Ian sits upright and takes hold of both of his arms.

“Wait, wait- we need lube”.

“Nah, man- it'll be fine. I'm still prepped from before”, Mickey replies, trying again before Ian stops him.

“I'm serious, Mickey. I'm not going to hurt you”.

It's a statement that neither of them really believes given the flicker of emotion that passes over both of their faces, but regardless Mickey clearly listens as he quickly climbs off of Ian, disappearing out of sight for a short while before he returns carrying a bottle of lube in his hands that he passes to Ian along with a condom. Ian starts to get ready but evidently he is taking too long as after a while Mickey huffs impatiently before taking the lube from Ian, climbing on top of him once more and reaching back to smear lube over Ian's sheathed cock.

For someone who clearly takes care to wield a high level of control over his own life the act of riding Ian is not something Mickey has done all that often. Ian can still remember the first time they tried it, when kissing took a heated turn as Ian started to rub his cock against Mickey’s ass in this same position, asking without _really_ asking. The look of shyness on Mickey's face was unmistakable as he nodded his consent and they got ready until he paused just before penetration, leaning over Ian and saying quietly: “Ian, I don't know what I'm doing here...” Ian had wrapped both arms around Mickey’s shoulders to hold him, pulling Mickey into an embrace as he started to push into him, keeping Mickey close as he thrust upwards, prompting Mickey to groan at the sensations brought about by the new position. Eventually though Mickey found his confidence, or at least he enjoyed it enough that he was willing to try more, and Ian has never been able to forget the look on Mickey’s face the first time he grabbed him and moaned: “Fuck, Mick- you're gonna make me _come_ ”; a look of pride and astonishment that he was capable of causing such a thing.

A little of that residual shyness remains this time as Mickey sinks down onto Ian's cock, pupils blown wide and breaths coming out short and fast as he settles into position. Ian watches him, gives him the space to take what he needs, wraps a hand around Mickey's cock and strokes him, listening to Mickey moan. Eventually Mickey leans over to kiss Ian and they remain that way as he starts to rock forward, fucking himself on Ian's cock in a way that is both wanton and earnest.

When Ian comes he does so with his cock buried deep inside Mickey's ass, groaning heatedly as meanwhile Mickey leans back as if he needs to watch him. It is easy for Ian to reach for Mickey after that, to grasp his cock and stroke firmly, to watch Mickey in turn as he shakes and gasps and comes, coating Ian's stomach. As the fever fades Ian stays there gazing up at Mickey, overcome by the intense feelings he has for the man even after months apart, and knowing that- whilst it would have certainly been easier just to leave and go back to his normal life- it is infinitely rewarding to stay.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Mickey still cannot get used to the sight of Ian- to going about his business and seeing Ian there, in the same house, sitting on the sofa or preparing food in the kitchen or standing by the window looking at the world outside. It's gratifying but confounding, because although Mickey has imagined this more than once, has spent countless days and nights thinking of Ian and what it would be like to be with him again, he never really thought it would happen.

At one time such thoughts were all that kept Mickey going, back when he was locked up in prison and the idea of being free and seeing Ian’s face again was the only thing that prevented Mickey from shanking every jumped-up hoodlum who dared to cross him. After a while Mickey realised that his only chance of seeing Ian again was to find some way to get out of prison, because as time went on the reluctant visits became non-existent and Mickey was just left there, wasting away in a prison cell and wondering why Ian didn't want him anymore.

It's a question Mickey wants to ask now- why Ian stopped visiting, why he gave up on their relationship entirely- but in many ways Mickey already knows the answer. From a young age Mickey was often told he was worthless, that he would never amount to anything, and though he never wanted to believe his father’s malicious words they always made an impact. Mickey still hears his father's voice in his head sometimes, even now, and it reminds Mickey that he should always enjoy the things he has whilst he has them, because they will not last for long.

For that reason Mickey makes sure to absorb every second that he spends with Ian, allowing their proximity to warm him like sunlight filtering into his very soul. He sits and watches as Ian makes a phone call to his place of work to tell them he won’t be in that night, notes when Ian says he plans to be in the following day, dies a little inside. Though Ian is here for now Mickey knows it can only last for so long, and not for the first time he hopes that circumstance permits him to stay in Chicago a bit longer, because already he cannot imagine what it will be like to leave.

Overall the entirety of the first day passes pleasantly, earmarked by laughter and wistful conversation and copious amounts of sex, rendering Mickey sore but satisfied and yet still aching to be fucked just one more time. After perhaps the fourth occasion it finally becomes too much and Mickey actively shudders when Ian pulls out, overcome by the sensation of it, and though it's frankly quite adorable the way Ian immediately starts to fuss over Mickey and tries to make sure he's okay, Mickey only shrugs out of Ian's grasp and tells him he's fine, grumbling as he rolls over in bed so he can light a cigarette.

Though he pretends he's not in need of comfort Mickey secretly hopes Ian might hang around so they can spoon a little, but it has always been in Ian's nature to withdraw after sex, succumbing to a perhaps rather sensible need to get clean. Mickey shares no such compulsion, because in truth there is nothing he likes better than being able to _feel_ Ian on his body, registering the impression made by Ian’s lips and hands and come on his skin, making him feel well and truly claimed. For that reason Mickey remains there in bed as Ian heads into the bathroom, eventually placing his cigarette back in the ashtray on the bedside table and closing his eyes, before succumbing to sleep once more.

When Mickey awakes it's to the sight of Ian leaning over him, shaking Mickey’s shoulder firmly.

“Mickey, how the hell are you sleeping again? What are you- like ninety or something?”

“Hey- give me a break, man”, Mickey grumbles. “Some of us have had a very tiring past forty-eight hours dragging themselves across the country just to see your freckled ass”.

“Yeah, well- siesta time's over. Come with me- I've got something to show you”.

It would be incredibly tempting for Mickey to grasp hold of Ian and pull him back down onto the bed, to wrestle him into subjugation and make a start on another session, but already Ian is beginning to pull at Mickey's arm impatiently and so it is really just easier to go and see what he wants.

Ian smiles victoriously as he takes Mickey's hand and pulls him up, keeping hold as he leads him over to the bathroom. Mickey suspects that maybe he is in for another shower, hopefully one with a happier ending than before, but to his surprise he finds something else waiting for him.

“’The fuck is this?” Mickey asks.

Perhaps if Mickey hadn't been sleeping he would have noticed the length of time Ian was gone- evidently long enough to run a deep bath complete with an exorbitant amount of bubbles, a bath that he apparently expects Mickey to get into...

“You ran me a bath?”

“Yep”.

“I don't like baths...”

“Why not?”

Mickey turns to stare at Ian incredulously. “Because it's fucking gay, that's why”.

“Mickey, we _are_ gay”, Ian replies, smiling widely.

“Yeah, but that don't mean I gotta start bathing in rose petals or some shit. Next thing I know you'll be expecting me to suck you off whilst wearing a fucking multicoloured jockstrap or something”.

“Now there's a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing...”

It's hard for Mickey to glare at Ian but he gives it a good go, even as Ian continues to grin at Mickey like he finds the whole situation immensely amusing.

“Mickey, just get in the fucking bath...” Ian says eventually.

With another sullen glance Ian's way Mickey rolls his eyes and starts to move, stepping over to the admittedly tempting looking bathtub and starting to step into it. As the warm water begins to slowly creep up Mickey’s legs he starts to wonder what he was even complaining about, but of course he makes sure to keep his thoughts to himself in that regard.

Once Mickey is situated in the tub he turns to look at Ian expectantly.

“What is this- some kind of fucking peep show for you or something? You like watching guys take baths?”

“No...” Ian replies, leaning against the sink with his arms folded across his chest. “Just you”.

“Yeah, well why don't you take a fucking picture- it'll last longer...”

“Oh... Okay then”.

Mickey has barely enough time to react before Ian reaches into his pocket and withdraws his phone, snapping a quick photo in spite of the increasing volume of Mickey's threats. Any attempts to clamber out of the bath to kick Ian's ass prove woefully ineffective thanks to the slipperiness of the tub, but after a moment Ian places his phone on the side of the sink and starts to shed his clothing, and Mickey's protests fade to a low murmur.

Once Ian is naked he steps over to the bathtub and gestures for Mickey to shift forward, which Mickey does without a moment’s hesitation. In truth Mickey can think of no objection to offer whatsoever as he feels Ian step into the tub behind himself, Ian's legs sliding either side of Mickey's body as he settles down, his arms sliding around Mickey’s waist to pull him closer. It's a very real manifestation of everything Mickey thought about when he was in prison, everything he wanted desperately, and consequently it is hard for Mickey to quite believe that it’s real. As it is all he can do is lean back against Ian, feeling the warmth of his body and breathing him in, loving him still.

“I thought about you a lot, you know?” Mickey starts. “When I was inside, I mean. Sometimes it's all that kept me going... In some ways it feels like that in Mexico too- like I'm just existing there, not living. Just waiting for you”.

“You said you had a good life there, Mick...”

“Yeah, right- two bed condo on the beach, nice car plus four figures in the bank. But it's all just stuff, Ian. It's not you”.

Mickey told himself that he wasn't going to talk about it, that he would just take each day with Ian as it comes and not hold out for something more, but just sitting there feeling the steady rhythm of Ian's heartbeat against Mickey's back is enough to have him hoping, and not caring if he makes himself look foolish. It's perhaps how it has always been, because although Mickey tried to resist to begin with, to shield his heart from what he told himself he couldn't have, being with Ian changed him immeasurably. It's what made him summon up the courage to come out, to risk his life and his reputation for something he knew he felt but refused to name for years, until it was almost too late in fact. That same sentiment remains there now- the purest thing Mickey has ever felt- and though Mickey knows it when he senses it he didn't realise that Ian still felt it too.

For a moment Ian is quiet, his arms still wrapped around Mickey’s waist as he slowly caresses Mickey's stomach with his fingertips. It's quiet in the room, no sound whatsoever except the swirling rush of wind and snow courtesy of the almost blizzard-like conditions outside, something that makes their rundown little safehouse seem even more cosy and idyllic. Mickey knows he would give up all the sunshine Mexico has to be with Ian like this, no matter what that means, and he is just about to say so when Ian speaks first.

“Mickey...” Ian murmurs, dropping his head so that his mouth brushes gently against Mickey’s shoulder as he speaks. “I love you, _so_ fucking much...”

Within his chest Mickey feels his heart clench in recognition, his mouth instantly drying as he turns his head to look at Ian, or at least to try to. Ian is hiding though, his face still tucked into the curve of Mickey’s neck, so all Mickey can do is reach to grasp Ian's leg where it is pressed against his own, squeezing Ian's thigh gently.

“You mean that, or you just saying it cause we're naked in the tub together?”

“Mean it...” Ian replies, the words mumbled against Mickey's skin.

“Alright... So you wanna tell me what the fuck we’re doing here then? Besides exfoliating and shit... You say the word and we could be on our way to Mexico together in no time at all”.

“It's not that simple...”

“Shit rarely is, but the complicated things are usually worth the effort they require. You wanna be with me or not, Ian?”

“I do, but--”

“No buts, then. Just a yes or no is all I'm asking for”.

Ian doesn't say anything and perhaps that is an answer in itself, though it's not the one Mickey is looking for. He understands, of course- all the reasons why Ian is holding back, why they keep seemingly having the same conversation over and over without really feeling like they're getting anywhere. Leaps of faith are hard to take when you feel like you might stumble, and life has given Ian more than enough reason to think he won't be caught this time.

Mickey sighs quietly, and places the questions back where they belong.

“So you gonna explain what the deal is with this bath situation? Do we just sit here all night stewing in our own juices or what?”

“Mm, not exactly...” Ian replies. He lifts his head and reaches over to the side of the tub, retrieving a bottle of shampoo as he adds: “Stick your head under for a minute- I'm going to wash your hair”.

“You are _not_ washing my hair--”

“You wanna try and stop me?”

All protests die on weary lips, and Mickey only grumbles for a moment longer before giving up and heeding Ian's instruction, sinking down into the water briefly before resurfacing. As soon as Mickey is sat upright leaning back against Ian's chest once more he feels Ian's fingers slide into his hair, starting to massage his scalp gently.

“You deserve good things, Mick...”

It's something that Ian has said before, but Mickey still has a hard time believing it. He does not want ‘things’ plural anyway, only one thing- Ian, that's all. But it's clear that Ian does not believe that he represents just one thing, that he thinks of the symptoms of his mental illness and adds them to the package, making himself something cumbersome and complicated within his own mind. It's a burden Mickey would happily take on though, particularly as he has never seen it as such, but there's only so many times he can ask Ian only to be shut down.

After he is finished with Mickey's hair Ian moves on to his skin, pressing his thumbs into Mickey’s upper back firmly but carefully as Mickey yields to the touch.

“I hope this massage comes with a happy ending...” Mickey says, smiling. But he knows the type of ending he is really after is not actually within his reach.

 

When Mickey and Ian retire to bed that night it is with a certain amount of resignation, borne of the fact that they have both spent the day getting some of what they want but not all. Mickey tries to see it as a positive sign that Ian is still there, that when he slips beneath the sheets Ian instantly moves closer, winding his arms around Mickey's waist and nudging his face against the back of Mickey's neck to place a kiss to his skin. It's comforting but it only makes Mickey think of what it's going to be like when he is alone once more, and when he no longer has Ian to hold him as he sleeps.

It doesn't take Ian very long to fall drift off, it never has in the past, but for Mickey the night is long and dissatisfying. For some time Mickey lies there in Ian's arms, feeling the warmth and comfort of Ian's body against his own, listening to the low sound of his gentle breathing, until eventually Mickey sighs and withdraws from bed, taking up position sitting on the window ledge instead. Mickey lights a cigarette as he gazes out at the scene outside, noting how the snow has stopped falling rendering the night still and static. From where Mickey is he can hear very little noise- no cars driving by or music blaring or people yelling- and it's a strange kind of peace compared to what Mickey is used to. The silence makes it seem like they are completely isolated, cut off from the entire world, and Mickey knows he would happily remain that way.

When the peace is shattered it comes courtesy of a phone call. Mickey leans over and grasps his phone from the bedside table as soon as it starts ringing, preventing Ian from being woken by the noise and then ensuring he keeps his voice low as he answers. The conversation that follows makes Mickey's heart drop very viscerally into the pit of his stomach, because although it's somewhat reassuring for Mickey to know that his pissed off former lover has been suitably dealt with before any harm could come to himself or Ian, the confirmation of such only means one thing.

“Hey, who was that?”

Mickey turns towards the mumbling voice, finding Ian sat upright in bed staring over at him, his hair tousled and his face scrunched up rather adorably.

“Well, Cinderella- it looks like your time at the ball is over... The coast is clear. You can go home”.

“Huh?” Ian says, evidently struggling to return to full consciousness. “What do you mean? That guy isn't after me anymore?”

“Nope. It's over. You're a free agent, Gallagher...”

The words are painful to utter, caustic and cruel, but Mickey says them anyway, knows that he would let Ian go even if he hates it, even if it kills him, because it is worth it for Ian to be happy.

All Ian says in response is: “Oh”; an utterance that does little to alleviate the steadily rising tension in Mickey's body. It's almost involuntary the way he goes straight from upset to angry, as if he cannot help it, as if it is easier to just be furious than to be hurt and live with it. Such ire prompts Mickey to discard his cigarette and fold his arms defensively across his chest, scowling at Ian even though the darkness probably obscures most of his expression.

“You fucking going or what?” Mickey huffs.

Ian doesn't say anything but slowly he withdraws from bed, wandering over towards Mickey until he is standing directly in front of him. Mickey looks away as Ian approaches, his mouth trembling as he shifts uncomfortably in response to the attention, the tremor increasing as Ian places both hands on Mickey's shoulders, squeezing lightly. Eventually Mickey looks up into Ian's eyes, feels himself reach the point when he is past caring about all the reasons why it would be easier to pull away now, to call Ian a dick and tell him to just get the fuck out already. And so Mickey remains mute, closes his eyes as Ian leans in, and gives in to the kiss.

This time when they fuck it is much slower- a sensual act that might have something to do with Ian being careful given their earlier vigorous activity, but equally could be borne of a need to savour the moment; to enjoy it whilst it lasts. Mickey ends up reclined on his back on the mattress, seeing stars as Ian holds his legs and fucks him slowly, making Mickey's toes curl with each deep thrust. It's almost painfully intimate- an intensity lessened only by the dim light filtering in through the window keeping them in shadow- but this time the closeness is not something that Mickey cowers from or tries to avoid. Where once he would have turned away from Ian now Mickey gazes at him devotedly, winding his arms around Ian's shoulders to pull him closer, and tilting his head up in expectation of a kiss that is wilfully given.

“You're so beautiful...” Ian murmurs when their lips part, his eyes fixed enduringly on Mickey's face.

Mickey can't help lowering his gaze and immediately mumbling: “Shut up, man...”, but Ian isn't having any of it.

“You're _so_ beautiful...” Ian repeats, dipping his head to gently nudge his mouth against Mickey's face, slowly covering his jawline with soft kisses. “So strong and brave and _good_. Too good for me...”

“What fucking planet you living on, Gallagher?” Mickey asks, before groaning as Ian rolls his hips another time.

“I love you...” Ian whispers. “I want you to remember that”.

It is clear then what this is- what it has perhaps always been. The entirety of the past two days have been little more than one long goodbye; a lingering lament as Ian remains with Mickey not indefinitely but for a limited time- just as long as he has to and not a second more. Now that the danger is over Ian will be leaving, almost certainly in the morning if not before that, and the confirmation of such is like a knife in Mickey's chest, piercing his heart. It makes him want to run and hide but instead he simply wraps his arms around Ian once more, pulls him closer, breathes him in, knowing that when the morning comes it will be harder than when they separated at the Mexican border because this time Mickey sees it coming, and looking away will not save him any longer.

Eventually Ian's movements grow more erratic and his breathing deepens, and then Mickey is holding on and watching as Ian’s body trembles and he comes. Against his stomach Mickey’s own cock is hard and flushed but he does not reach for it, because in some ways it feels like climaxing would represent the very real end of everything they were and everything they could never be. Instead Mickey watches Ian, waits until Ian pulls out before Mickey rolls onto his stomach on the bed- wrapping his arms around the nearest pillow and pressing his face into it. Mickey listens as Ian withdraws from bed, lies there still feeling the effects of sex with Ian on his body, does not make an attempt to get up or to finish himself off. Suddenly Mickey feels like he cannot bear to bring himself to so much as look at Ian, and for that reason he remains in place as Ian eventually returns from the bathroom and climbs back into bed, crawling closer to Mickey but not holding him this time.

 

In the morning the growing light of new day awakens Mickey from a sleep he cannot remember falling into. Against his back Mickey can still sense the warmth of Ian's body but it’s not a comfort when Mickey knows it cannot last for long, and consequently he does not dare to move closer nor retreat from Ian's embrace, instead remaining deathly still. Mickey stays that way as Ian wakes up, as Ian nudges his face gently against the back of Mickey’s neck to press a soft kiss there- an almost hopeful sign were it not for the sigh Ian gives out immediately after. When Ian withdraws it comes as no surprise, and though Mickey would like to hope that Ian is only briefly popping to the bathroom and that he will return soon, it is clear that things really are over this time.

The finality of the situation is confirmed when Ian steps back into the bedroom several minutes later, his EMT uniform perceivable by Mickey even as he remains with his face pressed into the pillow. Mickey has never been very good at losing the people he loves and so he doesn't even attempt to look up, not even when Ian approaches the bed and lingers there, looking down at Mickey. Eventually Ian reaches down, slides a hand into Mickey's hair, exhales that same soft sigh as before and this time names it, calls it: “Goodbye”. Mickey closes his eyes and chokes down a sob, turns it into the same sullen farewell as before: “Fuck you, Gallagher...”; whispered this time. It doesn't help, of course. The moment of parting is as painful as it was the last time, but perhaps more so somehow because they have shared something truly beautiful beforehand.

Mickey stays in bed as Ian moves away, listening to the sound of his footsteps tracking across the wooden floor before heading downstairs, growing fainter all the time. When Mickey hears the front door slam shut he finally tears himself from bed so he can rush over to the window, looking through and knowing what he will see there, and hating it already. Down on the street Ian moves quickly away from the house, advancing through the snow with his shoulders hunched and his head dipped low, and Mickey can't help the feeling of regret that seeps into his bones at the thought of how this is the last time he's ever going to see Ian, and how they never really said goodbye at all. Ian turns and looks up at the window and it’s agonising, like shards of ice splintering into Mickey's heart, and as Ian turns away once more Mickey can only watch him leave, hoping the warmth of the changing seasons might heal the parts of him that are broken before long.

 

The feeling of icy agony still remains as Mickey leaves the house sometime later, as he gets into a car with his associates and begins the journey back to Mexico. The trip is not without its troubles but it passes easily enough thanks to the same fake IDs that got Mickey out of the country in the first place, along with the money for bribes. In no time at all Mickey is back in the place he calls home and it is final then- he and Ian are really, truly over. The only thing Mickey even has left of him is the same old, photograph of Ian that he's had for years, one he insisted his sister Mandy bring to him in prison even though he knew he risked being ridiculed or injured for possessing such a thing. Mickey keeps the photo in his bedroom and looks at it daily, thinks of Ian and wonders where he is and what he's doing, hopes that he is happy. Overall Mickey looks at the picture and thinks of happier times, when he and Ian were together and everything was so much simpler, before everything went completely to shit.

The bitter cold of Chicago in no way compares to the pleasant heat of Mexico, even in winter. Mickey watches each day pass and thinks of the seasons, knows that the love he and Ian shared has always been very much like winter; intense and all-consuming but fleeting nonetheless. Perhaps in many ways it was foolhardy of Mickey to think that what he and Ian could ever really make it, because seasons only last for so long. But then one day Mickey gets a knock on his door and when he opens it Ian is there, and suddenly nothing is impossible anymore.

For a while Mickey can only stare at him, mouth parting as he takes in the sight of Ian dressed comfortably in shorts and a thin shirt. He looks gorgeous but Mickey knows it's only a matter of time before his beautiful, freckled skin turns red from the sun. The thought makes Mickey smile, because of all the things he wants in life he wants that most of all- the sweet simplicity of each day with Ian as they share a life together.

“What's so funny?” Ian asks, adjusting the large bag that is thrown over his shoulder- something that allows Mickey to believe this is not just some fleeting visit.

“You're gonna burn like a motherfucker...” Mickey replies, unable to stop grinning.

Ian smiles widely, and it's unreal how strangely normal it is to see him- as if this where he has belonged all along.

“Well then... I guess you better invite me in”.

Mickey is accustomed to greeting almost all of Ian's words with some acerbic retort, whether Ian deserves it or not, but on this occasion he finds himself remaining quiet, unable to do anything other than smile warmly at Ian as he drinks in the sight of him. Eventually Mickey returns to his senses, steps to the side as he allows Ian to enter, and in that moment Mickey finds that he can allow himself to believe that he is worthy of deserving something good and beautiful, for the first time in his life.

 


End file.
